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She lets out a sigh as I rub the back of my neck and begin walking toward Tillie’s bedroom. “You need to be careful with her, son.”
“I plan on it,” I respond, but I doubt she believes me. It’s not like it matters. The only thing that matters here is that my Tillie does.
“Be careful,” she repeats.
“I will,” I confirm,again.
“Okay. Love you, baby.”
That makes me smile and I shake my head. “Love you, too, Mom.”
I click off my phone and put it on Tillies nightstand. Next thing on my agenda was to find her some pajamas. I make my way to her dresser and pull open the first drawer. I want to groan when I look down at pretty, silk bras and panties in a vast array of colors. My gaze is drawn to the shiny red set. I close my eyes and I can practically see them covering Tillie’s curvy body. I imagine her walking toward me. Her breasts swaying with her movements, the silk caressing her flesh, nipples pushing out, begging to be sucked—even through the fabric.
Son of a bitch.
My cock is pressing out against my jeans—hard, needy, and angry because there’s not enough room for the bastard to stretch out. I reach down to adjust myself because if I didn’t, it would be entirely possible my cock would have burst through my zipper and the damn metal teeth might do permanent damage.
Once I have control of myself, I close the drawer and open another. This one is thankfully the correct one. I reach in and move the clothing around, just to see what I can find. As I lift up a couple of tops my heart nearly comes to a complete stop.
I suck in a breath as my fingers tangle into cotton fabric and pull out a jersey. I know without a doubt the jersey would cover her easily and fall to her thighs. I know this because this isn’t an ordinary jersey.Not in the least.This was a Houston Astros jersey, and it was old. It was the one that I gave her the day her fucking perfect tits caused the buttons of her shirt to nearly put my eye out.
Tillie had kept it.She kept my old jersey.
I flop down in the chair by my woman’s bed—and she is my woman—and I do it holding my old jersey, thinking young me was a stupid fuck because I wasted time on a girl with no loyalty when all along there was a woman who gave me more loyalty than I deserved.
Jesus.
Tillie
My head is still a mess. There’s just no way around that. Still, Ryder is here with me. He’s trying to take care of me. None of that would be happening if he didn’t want to be here with me.Would it?In the past, he didn’t know I was alive. He sure as heck wouldn’t have chased me down.
I need to put the past behind me once and for all. I know I do. The problem is that some scars have a way of getting in so deep they cut into the bone and create a small pocket of misery that—no matter what you do—refuses to leave. It just hides and waits to leak out in tiny droplets. That way you don’t face the full brunt all over again. No, that would be too simple. Instead, it’s a constant torture delivered in slow portions designed to make you feel safe before drowning you in the pain you once felt.
I push my thoughts away. I need to concentrate on the here and now. I grab one of my big, fluffy bath towels. I could fit two of me in this thing and that doesn’t happen that often when you’re overly fluffy. I walk out into my bedroom, my head down as I take a much smaller towel and use it to scrub against my scalp and try to dry my hair slightly that way. I’m too tired to deal with a blow-dryer tonight.
“You kept my damn jersey, Buttons,” Ryder says, his voice raw.
I gasp, jerking my head up, my gaze moving to the opposite side of the bed where Ryder is sitting. He’s holding the Astros jersey that he gave me in high school. I swallow, my mouth and lips suddenly feeling very dry.
“Uh…”
“You kept my jersey,” he whispers, emotion still thick in his voice.
“I know I should have given it back,” I respond, faltering to figure out how to get past this.
“All these years, Tillie, and you kept my jersey.”
“Are you mad?” I ask, because there is some kind of emotion swirling in the room and I honestly don’t know what to do with it.
“Yeah. I’m mad, Buttons. How often did you fall asleep with my shirt covering your body?”
My body jerks with his response.He’s mad?“Ryder—”
“How often, sweetheart?’”
I swallow nervously. “How do you know I wore it at all?”
“Because even though I wore it to practices, I had Mom hand wash it and be very careful while handling it. That means it looked like new the day I gave it to you, sweetheart. It’s well-worn now.”
